All the Bright Colored Fish
by SisterTenenbaum
Summary: This is where the water is shallow and nothing is as deep as you’d hoped it would be. A darker look at a familiar story Complete.
1. Does it feel good?

Title: All the Bright Colored Fish

Summary: This is where the water is shallow and nothing is as deep as you'd hoped it would be.

Rating: Mature

Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with the WB network or the television show One Tree Hill.

_You bad girl  
Does it feel good being bad?_

She swirls her drink with one finger, dipping it in and out of the cool liquid. Some people like their beer warm, but she's just never developed the taste for it. There are a lot of things that she's just never developed the taste for, pleather, warm beer, and morality being only a few of them.

She looks across the room, watching as a brunette girl with far too few items of clothing and far too much makeup attempts to stand but stumbles. A boy catches her arm, and Peyton briefly considers following the hand up to the face but in the end, finds that she simply can't bring herself to do it. She's gotten lazy in her old age and anyway, does it really matter?

She smirks slightly as she sees the adoring gaze that Brooke is sending up to him. This might be good material for her strip, if she was still into that sort of thing. Too bad she isn't. Once she realized what a walking cliché she was, she had stopped. How could she have thought that it was her place to criticize society's hypocrites? There wasn't a person alive more hypocritical than she. But she doesn't care about all that anymore.

She sees the boy motion to the stairs with his finger and Brooke nod coyly. Well, as coyly as possible when completely hammered. She briefly considers playing the hero and swooping in to save Princess Brooke from the big, mean sex-machine but, once again, finds she doesn't have the energy. Oh well, what Brooke won't remember tomorrow won't hurt her.

It's interesting, though, to think of how Brooke might react if she did remember. If she could recall her best friend's passive gaze on her as she headed upstairs to make yet another mistake, what would she think?

She'd probably be angry, and play hurt, like usual, but Peyton wouldn't buy it. Then Brooke would be Brooke, and toss her head, and play it off. As much as Brooke pretended to hate the reputation her actions gave her, she thrived off of people talking about her, good or bad. This is why Peyton likes to call Brooke 'her lovely little sociopath'. Brooke used to hate it when Peyton called her that, and demand that she stop because it might "give people the wrong idea". Lately, though, when Peyton has called the nickname through the halls, Brooke has only winked and blown a kiss. Peyton somehow wishes that she would still fight it.

Finally, Peyton forces herself to take a good look at Brooke's latest violator.

_Oh, God, it's him_.

Her eyes roll almost involuntarily. He, above all people, makes her sick. He even makes her sicker than she makes herself, which is saying quite a bit. At least she knows what she is. A drug addicted whore who would rather use her own, or, if need be and Brooke was drunk enough, her best friend's, body to buy what she wanted than shell out the few hundred dollars which was only a drop in the bucket of her monthly allowance. But really, she couldn't help it if she was naturally thrifty.

But anyway, back to the vomit-inducing perv who has apparently given up on Brooke's making it up the stairs herself and has swung her over his shoulder and is currently struggling under her dead weight. Lucas Scott. The name leaves a bad taste in her mouth.

She wonders idly how many times this scenario had taken place. Friday night party takes place at Bevin's, Brooke and Peyton arrive together, Brooke gets smashingly drunk, Lucas sweeps in to rescue her, and then Peyton creeps upstairs into whatever bedroom he had so conveniently found to protect her from all of the drunken jocks in, and watches him nervously cop a feel as his damsel lies passed out on the bed. The fact that she can't help herself from watching makes her want to both laugh and cry at the same time.

Peyton doesn't do crying, so she laughs instead.

The best part about it is the way his eyes shift while it's happening. Usually, Peyton only gets to watch from a crack through the door while it's going on but there was this one time where she and… oh, she can't really remember his name, but she and this guy were going at it in Bevin's parents' closet for some reason and he had passed out right in the middle. Like, literally, right in the middle. Peyton had been a bit offended, but also a bit stoned, so she had been slow about getting her clothes back on and getting out of the closet. Just as she had been struggling to clasp her bra, she heard the door to the bedroom open. Curious, she had stayed and watched the proceedings and, boy, was she ever glad she had.

Lucas had walked through the door, laid Brooke down on the bed, looked at her for a second, and then walked back toward the door.

Here's where the memory gets strange. Peyton remembers feeling, in that one, split-second, more angry than she ever had in her life. She felt angrier than she had when her mom died, and angrier than she had when Brooke had stolen her third-grade boyfriend, and even more angry than when she had realized that art meant nothing. She wanted to leap at Brooke, to jump on top of her like a lion onto an antelope and rip all of the girl's hair out with her teeth. Then she would turn to Lucas and sink her claws into him, leaving his back a minefield of torn flesh. How dare Brooke get treated with such tenderness and respect, when Peyton was lying in a closet half-dressed with a sweaty and drunk boy passed out still inside of her?

But Peyton doesn't like remembering that part. It's not funny, and it bothers her. What she likes is remembering the scared look that had appeared in Lucas's eyes when he had not left the room and shut the door behind like a true gentlemen, and when he had, in fact, shut the door and returned to the bed slowly. He had reached one finger out slowly, trailing it up and down the flushed skin of Brooke's arm. Then, ever so hesitantly, he had leaned over and kissed her softly on the mouth. Peyton, barely holding in the laughter at this point, had detached herself from the boy and leaned forward to get a better look. She watched, then, as Lucas slipped Brooke's shirt over her head and sat down next to her on the bed. His eyes were still moving, looking right and then left, and sometimes even up, as if he feared something could be watching him from above. That was what really got to Peyton; that, and the fact that, beyond the small kiss he had planted on her lips, he hadn't really done anything. After all of the trouble that he had went to, waiting until she was too drunk to remember his social status, carrying her limp body all of the way upstairs, waiting in the shadows until the coast was clear… all of this, and now that he finally had her, all he seemed interested in was taking off her shirt and laying beside with his head in between her breasts.

The idiocy of his actions made Peyton double over in the closet, dangling her long curly hair in the face of the boy with his head in her lap as she shook with laughter.

Finally, though, when she realized that this wasn't getting old for him, she decided that it was for her, and slowly crawled her way to freedom. He was so preoccupied with rubbing strands of Brooke's straight brown hair over his cheek that he didn't even notice the mostly naked girl slowly creeping across the floor, or the small crack of light that shown on the bed next to them when she finally made her exit.

Sometimes she wonders if Lucas isn't more of a crack head than she is.

And, as the perfect end cap to the hilarity of this memory, she recalls what had happened the next day.

_"Oh God, he is so hot" Brooke exclaims as she and Peyton make their way down the hall together._

_"Who?"_ _Peyton questions, searching the crowd for Brooke's latest conquest._

_"Him…oh, I don't know his name, but he is seriously sexy!"_

_Peyton follows Brooke's pointing finger straight to…_

_"Lucas Scott?" she squeaks, her attempt at crushing the mirth rising in her stomach causing her voice to come out choked._

_"Yeah" says Brooke with a sigh. "Too bad he's a total loser. I bet he'd be such a good lay. Oh well, it's not as if I'll ever get within ten yards of that. I bet that degree of unpopularity is catching."_

_"I bet you're right" says Peyton, swinging an arm around her friend's shoulder. "But we'll never catch it."_

Smirking a little to herself, Peyton takes a sip of her drink and then grimaces. She hates warm beer. She hates it almost as much as she hates Lucas Scott, or Brooke. She hates it almost as much as she hates herself.

_And getting worse?_

Italicized lyrics belong to Cursive. No copyright infringement is intended.


	2. What you have done

Title: All the Bright Colored Fish

Summary: "This is where the water is shallow and nothing is as deep as you'd hoped it would be." A darker look a familiar story.

Rating: Mature

Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with the WB network or the television show One Tree Hill.

A.N.: Just to make things clear, this is not a Peyton-centric fic, or even anything close to that. Peyton is probably my least favorite main character, and I'm not sure what inspired me to write about her first. I guess I just wanted to try something new!

_But in the morning_

_On the sober dawn of Sunday_

_You're not sure what you have done_

"Damnit" is the first word to greet her waking ears. She rolls over onto her back and props herself up on her elbows, watching the scene before her unfold with a grin. She giggles lightly to herself.

"Are you laughing?" the man working frantically at his belt pauses to glare at her.

She doesn't answer with words, just lets her body fall back onto the tangle of sheets and laughs. She really, really laughs, arms extended, bare chest moving up and down.

"You're sick, you know that? he spits at her.

"That's not what you were saying last night, baby" she croons with a smirk.

There is a moment of silence of the thickest sort.

"God... I'm married." He falls to his knees, cradling his face in his hands. His shoulders shake a little.

She scoffs.

"If my wife finds out about this, my life is over. It would kill her." He appears to be speaking more to himself than to her. "If she ever heard..."

"Oh, she won't hear" a new voice asserts from the doorway. "But what if she sees?" The man smirks, holding up a series of Polaroids.

Haley sighs and pulls the bed covers up and over her face.

This little game of bait, hook, and reel has been losing its appeal of late. Sure, it used to entertain her but everything gets old eventually. Even being a whore.

These days, she really prefers sleeping over observing her partner work his magic. And usually, that's exactly what she does. Today, however, something is off. She can't seem to block out their victim's pleadings. His voice is a high-pitched whine, and it grates her nerves.

Her nerves put up with a lot of grating these days.

Finally, she reconciles herself to the fact that she is not going to be able to go back to sleep. She pushes herself up and out of bed, and begins ambling her way slowly over to the closet. She is debating whether to take a shower or just get dressed when she feels a hand grab her around the arm. Her body is swung around and she is face to face with her distraught bedmate.

"Do something" he exclaims in bewilderment, holding her arm tightly. "This perv was watching us last night and he took these disgusting pictures!" He holds one of them right up to her face. His hand shakes slightly. "This has to be illegal. We need to call the police or something. But wait, if we call, my wife might somehow get involved...oh, God... she can't find out! But we have to do something! We..."

Haley reaches up and takes the picture from his hand, glancing at it before tossing it casually to the ground. It lands on top of his right, bare foot.

"Disgusting?" she says, her tone musing. "I mean, it's not my best, I'll give you that. But when you take into consideration how completely stoned I was and the fact that I was having the worst hair day ever, I don't think they turned out too badly. Maybe it was the photographer."

She walks over and stands behind the man with the pictures, winding her arms around him. "What do you think, Nathan? Just not quite on the ball last night? Honestly, where has your artistic vision gone?"

The half dressed man in front of her gapes at them. "You know him?"

"Know him?" she asks with a grin. "He's my husband, baby."

"You're married? To him? You're married to the guy who took pictures of us screwing last night? And he's fine with that?"

"Well, I think he'll probably feel a lot better about it once he's had a little compensation" she smiles up at Nathan, tweaking his cheek. He smiles back at her and gives her a little spank on her bare behind as she scampers back towards the closet.

The man stares at the exchange.

"Anyway, about that compensation" says Nathan, swinging a heavy arm around the man's shoulders and leading him forcefully towards the bedroom door. "I find it consoles me the most when in the form of cash."

Haley waits for a few seconds after the door shuts behind them before collapsing back onto the bed and putting a pillow over her ears.

She doesn't want to hear Nathan name her price.

Sometimes, looking back on the way that things used to be, she finds it hard to believe that this is her life. This can't be her life. She was going to be a teacher, an architect, a lawyer… a mother.

A mother.

She knows her thoughts are taking her down a dangerous path but she can't seem to help but follow.

A mother.

A baby.

Two babies.

Three.

Three babies. She wonders what they would have been like. Would they have been little girls or little baby boys? Would they have been perfect, with ten little miniature fingers and ten little miniature toes? with wisps of dark, downy hair? with sleepy brown eyes and little red lips that opened and closed during sleep?

She can drive herself crazy with thoughts like this.

But then again, maybe they wouldn't have been so perfect after all. Maybe they would have been snotty little brats, with blond hair that reminded her of a million different men whom she had only met once, or a head full of black curls which couldn't have possibly come from her or Nathan.

That's the main reason that Nathan had wanted to take her to that place, and the only reason that she had agreed. He said he couldn't stand her if there was a part of someone else living inside of her, and she knew she couldn't stand living without him, even if he sometimes makes her want to kill herself. She knows she can't do that.

So instead, she settles for killing little parts of herself. She thinks that maybe another one just went.

She hears the door open and looks up. It's Nathan.

He crosses the room swiftly. He is, of course, as athletic as ever, despite his emaciated frame and the obvious deterioration of his muscles. He looks like a D.A.R.E. poster child, but he can still run a mile without getting winded.

Falling onto the bed next to her, he leans over and kisses her deeply. She wonders idly if he enjoys the taste of semen in the morning as much as she does.

"We really made out this time, Hales" he says excitedly, pulling out a roll of bills. "This guy was obviously loaded. Good pick."

"Thanks" she said humorously, staring at the ceiling.

He looks over at her, spread eagle on the bed.

"God, Haley" he says suddenly, standing up and walking over to the dresser. He pulls out a sweatshirt and tosses it to her. "Cover yourself up."

There's a bit of softness in his expression as he turns to leave, and Haley is finding it difficult to convince herself that there wasn't a slight glisten in his blue eyes.

She wants to hug him.

Instead, she rips him.

"Why should I bother? I mean, you never know when my spousal duty will call, and I just hate to be overdressed."

"I never said you had to do this, Haley" he says, his shoulders straight as he exits the room and shuts the door softly behind him.

"No" she agrees to herself in a whisper. "You never had to."

_Who told you love was fleeting?_

_Sometimes men can be so misleading_

_To take what they need from you_

The italicized lyrics belong to Cursive. No copyright infringement is intended.


	3. They sound unfounded

Title: All the Bright Colored Fish

Summary: This is where the water is shallow and nothing is as deep as you'd hoped it would be.

Rating: Mature

Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with the WB network or the television show One Tree Hill.

_And I was a kaleidoscope... _

_The snow on my lenses distorting the image of what was only one of you _

_And I didn't know which one to address as all your lips moved._

"Brooke." The word sounds labored, choked. Lucas hangs his head lower, burying his face in the fabric of his shirt before inhaling deeply.

"Brooke" he starts again, spitting out the word. "I just wanted to… I thought that maybe… I was wondering…"

God, he just sounds so stupid.

He leans down to gasp another breath. This time, he doesn't cover his face well enough and the rancid odor of four-hour old vomit fills his nostrils.

He coughs, but does not let it dissuade him from his task. Ringing out his rag over a bucket of bile-colored water, he resumes scrubbing at the mess which is spread over the small kitchen floor.

"Hey Brooke" he says in a tone perfected by years of watching teenage sitcoms. He means it to sound confident, yet casual. "I was wondering if you would wanna dance?" He places a hand on his chest in a gesture which he just knows looks heartfelt.

Perfect.

Smiling, he stares down at the mess beneath him. His smile falters a bit when he sees the small flecks of blood in the vomit, but he quickly recovers and resumes grinning.

"Lucas?" The call comes from the one bedroom in the apartment and is heavily slurred.

"Yeah, mom?" he calls back quickly.

"I…" The sentence trails off and he hears an accompanying crash. With a little spring in his step, Lucas wipes up the last of the vomit and heads towards the source of the sound. Nothing is going to ruin his mood today.

Certainly not a few drops of a red, sticky substance where they don't belong.

He hums a little as he goes.

* * *

A soft humming sound escapes a pair of perfect, red-stained lips as they pucker slightly. A hand reaches up and, with the help of a small brush, applies one last swipe of lip gloss.

The small sound moves a bit, growing in volume. She wipes a thick coat of jet black mascara over her eyelashes... once, twice, three times, and she's perfect.

Tonight is her night, she's just sure of it. She fluffs her dark hair, attempting to give the large curls that she has set it in just a bit more volume. She read somewhere that big hair is in this season. She wonders briefly if skanky whores are in this season too, but quickly pushes that thought from her mind.

Only losers and Peyton sit around beating themselves up and she certainly isn't either. Self deprecation is just not her thing, and it never has been. Peyton always tells her to open her eyes and see things the way they are, but she never listens. She knows that Peyton thinks she's stupid and shallow and incapable of self-awareness, and she's okay with that. She stopped needing the Peyton Sawyer stamp of approval a long time ago, about the time that she realized she was never going to get it.

You see, if there is one subject that Brooke Davis has a degree in, it's bitchy emo blondes. And they don't like anything or anyone, no matter how hard you work or how many things you buy them so you might as well just save your breath and your money.

But anyway, about tonight. It's going to be mucho fun.

She can just feel it.

* * *

Lucas stares at her.

He swallows.

"But, why can't you dance with me?" he finally gets the courage to ask the question.

"Who are you again?" she asks with no emotion or interest.

"Lucas" he says. His heart beats rapidly from somewhere in the vicinity of his of his right palm. He clenches his fist. He's not extending anything yet.

"Nope, not ringing any bells" she says with a grin, picking up her glass and tipping it over in her hands absently. The remains slosh out and fall onto his freshly polished loafers.

"Oops" she smiles. "Last name, please?"

"Scott" he says, not once looking down at his shoes.

"Oh" she breathes, smacking her forehead. "You're that Lucas. Okay, now I know who you are."

There is a heavy silence.

"So?" she prompts.

"So, why can't you dance with me?" he repeats.

"Oh, that" she says with a pout. She stands and advances towards him wobbily, throwing herself at him and latching her arms around his neck. "Why do you want to dance when there are so many better things we could be doing?"

"I...um...well, I..." This isn't the way that things are supposed to happen.

"This isn't the way that things are supposed to happen" he says out loud, for lack of anything better to say.

"Oh, I see" she says, giving him a sour look and flinging herself away from him and back to the bar that Bevin's parents most likely never meant to be utilized by anyone under twenty one. She struggles to regain her seat atop one of the stools. She slips and falls to the ground lightly, her legs spread wide as she giggles at her mistake. Her short black dress is riding higher by the minute and Lucas tries his hardest not to look at the inviting warmth emanating from between her legs.

Focusing his eyes on a point directly above her head, he reaches down and grasps her hand, lifting her to her feet easily. She teeters for a moment and then seems to regain composure.

"Look, are you going to answer my question or what?" He hates to take that tone with her, but she's ruining everything and he doesn't know how much more he can deal with.

"Fine, I'll tell you why I can't da-ance with you." The words are drawn out, as if she is speaking with someone of a low intelligence. "Because I'm drunk, Lucas Scott. And because I'm dumb. I'm the dumbest, drunkest girl in the whole wide world. That's why I can't dance with you."

"Okay" he says after a moment. "Now I know why you can't. But I still don't know why you won't."

She looks at him incredulously for a second. Even in her inebriated state, she's aware of how she looks right now.

Her eyeliner is smudged and her hair has gone completely and horrifically flat.

"Why do you want me so bad, anyway?"

"Because you're dumb." The words just seem to come. "And because I've never seen you sober outside of school."

"Lucas, those" she gesticulates widely, wavering on her feet, "are what we call 'bad things'." She points her finger dangerously close to his eyes. Her breath reeks of vodka.

"I know" he says, closing his eyes briefly and inhaling the scent. It makes him feel home. "That's why I want you. I think I might be able to fix you."

There is a moment of silence.

"No, no, no" she says, closing her eyes and criss-crossing her hands emphatically. "That's not what you say. You say 'I want you because I see the real you' and 'I know you're better than this' and 'I love you'. That's what you say!"

"This isn't a movie" he says blankly. "I do love you, and maybe you are better than this, but really, this is all I see, Brooke."

He gestures to her, to the empty shot glasses lined up on the bar and to the high hemline and low neckline of her dress, and to her smudged red lip gloss.

"This is all anyone can see."

_This is when I forget breathe_

_All the things I scripted, they sound unfounded._

Italicized lyrics belong to Death Cab for Cutie. No copyright infringement is intended.


	4. I've made you

Title: All the Bright Colored Fish

Summary: This is where the water is shallow and nothing is as deep as you'd hoped it would be.

Rating: Mature.

Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with the WB network or the television show One Tree Hill.

_"So the peace you had," she said,  
"I must confess, I'm glad to see it go."  
We're two white roses lying frozen just outside his door  
I've made you so happy and so sad,  
But which should I be more sorry for?_

"I mean, honestly, what was I supposed to do? Just ride off into the sunset with him? Pin a badge on his chest because he's such a great guy? I offered him free sex and he shot me down. Like our "relationship" is ever gonna recover from that one."

Brooke is using air quotes quite a lot these days.

Peyton sighs.

"I still can't believe I offered him free sex!"

Peyton groans louder as she attempts to straighten the thin line of white powder on her mirror. As thrilling as these last thirty minutes of listening to Brooke hash and rehash her drunken meeting with the school's resident deadbeat have been, she feels like she is about to go insane.

"God, Peyton, I need serious advice right now" she says. "Can't you do your little 'Wah, wah, wah! I'm such a drug-addicted whore' thing later? What do you think sounds more believable; "I accidentally fell into his arms because I was drunk and we don't even know each other" or "I was just screwing with his mind because I know that he's in love with me and I thought it would be a good laugh"?"

"Why do you need to make up a story again" asks Peyton, sputtering slightly as she snorts the powder through her nostril.

"Duh, because if anyone thinks that I was actually willing and ready for… Lucas Scott…" she spits out his newly learned name as if it tastes poisonous. "Ugh, you get the picture."

"How about you just tell everyone the truth?"

"Okay, the last one then" says Brooke with a forced smile. "I mean, it pretty much is true. It's not as if I would seriously and soberly ever go for him."

"Oh please" snorts Peyton. This time she's choking on Brooke's ridiculousness instead of cocaine. "As if you wouldn't go running into his arms in a heartbeat if you thought that no one would find out about it."

"Peyton!" Brooke is shocked.

"Brooke!" Peyton grins. She can feel the warmth filling her body. She feels almost happy.

Almost.

"Come on" she continues, falling back onto her bed lazily. "Take a seat and get ready to listen because your level of self awareness could really use a little boost, and I'm feeling pretty damn helpful right about now. Here's the thing about Brooke. She's predictable. She's seems slutty at first, and well, she is, but beneath that person, there's another girl. There's a sad, lonely, lost little girl. Yeah, I know, sounds pretty after school special, right? Well, congratulations, you've joined the walking cliché club. We're happy to have you, and your shirt should arrive by mail in three to six weeks!"

"Peyton, I don't know…" Brooke tries to interject but Peyton cuts her off.

"Did I sound finished? I'm not. Look, you have a daddy complex. There's really no denying it. What else explains the way that you run out and find some guy to screw every time you come home and there's no message from the oh-so-important Mr. Davis on the machine? Get it through your head, Brookie! He's a deadbeat dad who doesn't care a bit for you. You could probably die a widely televised, fiery death and he still wouldn't care. Guys like him don't do 'caring', and the sooner you realize that, the fewer STDs you'll end up with."

Brooke almost looks like she's about to cry.

They both know she won't.

"If you want my real advice, my dearest BFF" Peyton giggles up at the ceiling. It's floating, floating, floating. It's rising and swirling and she feels her body begin to rise with it. "You sink your claws into our good friend Lucas as soon and as deeply as you can, and don't you ever let go. Because you know what? I think he might actually be one of the good guys, and somehow, he's deluded himself into thinking that you're a decent human being. You need to strike while the iron is hot, trust me."

Peyton is somewhere near the attic now, and each second that passes is bringing her higher and higher, closer and closer to bursting through the roof.

"How can I?" Brooke says quietly after a few moments.

Peyton doesn't bother looking at her just yet.

"And why should I?" she continues, gaining volume. "Why should I trust you, or my dad, or fucking Lucas Scott? Give me one fucking good reason!"

"You shouldn't" Peyton answers with a dry laugh. "Are you seriously just figuring that out? There's no "fucking good reason" for trusting anyone. The rest of us learned that a long time ago. But you, you're Brooke, and you have some sick and twisted need for love that everyone else gave up on when they learned to feed themselves and not to shit in a diaper. That's why you need to make your move now before he changes his mind. Lucas loves you. He'd be good to you."

"I know it" says Brooke, looking down.

Peyton feels the 'but' coming from a mile away.

"But he's so poor and unpopular."

"Always the publicity whore" Peyton intones dryly.

She means 'just plain whore', and both girls know it, but it's okay.

"I know" says Brooke with a little sigh, falling back onto the bed to lie beside Peyton. "It's why you love me."

"No, it isn't" says Peyton.

"Why do you, then?" asks Brooke, turning onto her side with interest. Peyton can tell that Brooke's only asking to get her mind off Lucas, but she's interested herself so she decides to indulge them both.

"Let's see..." says Peyton drolly. "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways..."

"Oh, don't try to be smart!" whines Brooke. She has no patience for wit or academia. Ever. Peyton only does when she's high. "Just say it, no quoting some old writer or Jesus or anybody."

"I think I love you because you're here" says Peyton after a moment.

"Way to make a girl feel special" says Brooke with a little laugh.

"Or rather," Peyton goes on as if Brooke hadn't spoken, "because you've always been here. I mean, it's like you've existed from the beginning of time. Did you know that the first thing I can remember is you?"

"Really?" asks Brooke.

"Yeah" says Peyton, staring at the ceiling with a slight smile playing about her lips. "Yeah, I was probably, like, God, about three years old. I was out in the front yard, playing, and then all of the sudden, there you were, holding out a little pink flower."

"I don't remember that" says Brooke with a sigh.

"Don't worry" Peyton laughs dryly. "It doesn't go so well from there. I'm pretty sure that I took the flower, ate it, and had to be taken to the emergency room to make sure I hadn't been poisoned."

"That's you, P. Sawyer" Brooke rolls over her and stares her in the eyes, using her arms to hold herself just inches above Peyton's form. "Always taking your best gifts and turning them to poison."

"I know" says Peyton.

"Wow" Brooke lets her body drop and presses her cheek to Peyton's. They both stare at the window. "That was a very 'you' thing of me to say."

"You're getting more 'me' everyday, Brookie" Peyton is coming off her high, and it hurts. "So you better stop it."

"Why?" asks Brooke. "I thought you hated my 'half-full' attitude."

Peyton closes her eyes slightly, reveling in the feeling of Brooke's jaw moving against her face. It's almost like they're one, massive body of flesh, with Brooke's chest pressed to hers, exhaling as she inhales, inhaling as she exhales. They're a tangle of limbs and organs, no longer fighting each other for the chance to be alive, but helping each other in the struggle of being.

But then, with a sigh, Peyton remembers that they are, in fact, two separate beings. They're not the same.

She pushes Brooke off of her roughly, and turns on her side to face her.

"Sometimes, it's the only thing that reminds you that you're you and I'm me" she says. "Do you know what I mean?"

Brooke is silent.

"What if I don't want to be me anymore?" Brooke asks after a moment.

"Well, be someone else then, but you can't be me" says Peyton firmly.

"I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

Lyrics belong to MeWithoutYou


	5. A good time

Title: All the Bright Colored Fish

Summary: This is where the water is shallow and nothing is as deep as you'd hoped it would be.

Rating: Mature.

Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with the WB network or the television show One Tree Hill.

_I never had a lover_

_I never had soul_

_And I never had a good time_

_I never got bored_

"I'm bored" says Haley petulantly.

"Then do something" says Nathan, looking up from the money box he is currently rifling through.

"There's nothing to do" replies Haley, staring at the ceiling.

"How about you clean up around here?" asks Nathan, looking around the tiny apartment in disgust. "This place is sick."

"You're sick" responds Haley sullenly. "I don't feel like cleaning."

"You know, you're a real piece of work, Haley." Nathan slams the top closed on the money box. He begins speaking in a high caricature of Haley's own voice. "Oh, Nathan, I just love you so much, I just want to get married. I'll do whatever I need to, we'll get by just fine. I'll do anything, just as long as I can be with you."

He stands above her, staring down at her fiercly.

"You're nothing but a fucking little girl" he spits the words out. "You wanted to be with me so bad? Well, you got what you wanted. I gave up everything for you! I gave up basketball, I gave up school, I gave up my life, Haley!"

He's screaming now. She cowers beneath him.

"Do you get what I'm saying? Is any of this registering? I gave up everything! And for what? To become some third rate junkie with a whore for a wife who can't even pick up a few goddamn dishes!"

His foot connects to a dirty plate lying dangerously near Haley's head and sends it smashing to the wall.

"You couldn't be happy without me?" He's quiet now, as he drops down to her level and meets her eyes. "Well, we have each other now. Always and for-fucking-ever. I'm hope you're happy."

* * *

Lucas laughs, and then abrubtly stops.

Brooke removes the plastic spoon that she has previously been amusing Lucas by balancing on her tongue from her mouth and sticks it back into the ice cream.

"What's wrong, baby?"

When she calls him baby, he feels like he's going to explode from happiness. He really feels he might.

"It's nothing" he says, stuffing a huge spoonful of the sundae they're sharing into his mouth.

Swallow.

"But you want to know something weird?"

"Tell me" she says with a grin. A little bit of chocolate sauce has gathered in the corner of her mouth.

He wonders if maybe he should reach over and rub it away with his thumb, but talks himself out of it before the desire is fulfilled. It's too soon for that, he decides.

When Brooke had approached him out of the blue after school and invited him out for an ice cream sundae, her treat, he had hardly dared to believe that he wasn't dreaming. And now... now that he has almost convinced himself that this is real, he isn't about to screw things up by being too bold.

"Earth to Lucas" Brooke is waiving her hand in front of his eyes. She smiles playfully. Her tongue darts out and licks the sauce. He can't seem to tear his eyes away.

"You know what, Lucas?" Brooke is grinning again.

Lucas takes another bite of ice cream.

"You've been staring at my mouth for awhile now. I'm starting to think that you want to kiss me or something."

He feels her bare foot brush over his ankle, her toes crawling up under the leg of his jeans.

He swallows again, but this time the ice cream sticks in his throat a little.

"Um..." he says, staring down at the table.

"What's wrong, baby?" she repeats. "I feel like you're so far from me right now."

"I'm here." His head snaps up. "I'm right here. There's no where else I'd want to be."

She gets up suddenly, grabbing his hand and dragging him out the door. Quickly, she pulls him into the alley next to the little ice cream shop.

"Do you love me?" she asks.

"Yes" he says without hesitation.

He won't dare ask her, he decides. Not now... not when the question has the potential to either make or break this moment.

Lucas remembers being little. He only had three toys. A stuffed bear, a plastic sword, and a toy truck with little wheels that spun. He loved the truck the most, but he never touched it. He played with the bear and sword constantly, but the truck remained on the shelf. He remembers his mother raging at him, screaming about the waste of money the purchase had been and how she would never buy him another toy as long as she lived. He never bothered to explain to her how much he loved the truck, because he knew she wouldn't understand. He'd rather admire the truck from afar and deny himself the happiness of touching it than risk breaking it. It just wasn't worth it.

It's kind of like this. It just isn't worth it.

He opens his mouth to fill the silence, but he is cut off.

"I love you too" she declares, hooking her bony arms around his neck and squeezing him so hard that it hurts a little.

He breaths in the smell of her hair, rubbing the strands over his face as he revels in the knowledge that she's sober, and conscious, and she's letting him do it.

"You know that thing that I was going to tell you earlier?" he asks. "That weird thing?"

"Yeah?" she says, not releasing her tight grip.

"I was going to tell you that I don't think I ever laughed before today." He slides his hands up and down her back. It's a bit too quick, and it's a bit awkward, but he hopes that it will show her what he means. He wants her to know that she makes things different for him; better.

"Lucas?"

He loves when she says his name like she knows him.

"Remember when you said that you thought you could fix me?"

He does.

"Do you still think you could do that?"

He nodds a bit hesitently against her shoulder.

"Or, at least, promise to stay with me even if you can't?"

This time, he says yes.

Lyrics belong to The Killers. No Copyright infringement is intended.


	6. This doesn't hurt

Title: All The Bright Colored Fish

Rating: PG-13/R

Summary: This is where the water is shallow and nothing is as deep as you'd hoped it would be.

Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with One Tree Hill, the CW, nor any of its affiliates.

* * *

_Do you feel like a man when you push her around?_

_Do you feel better now when she falls to the ground?_

She wipes the blood from her nose with the back of her hand, leaning on the cool porcelain of the sink heavily. Coughing, she feels a metallic taste on her tongue and spits the remaining blood down the drain. She raises her head and looks at her reflection in the mirror. She feels a sudden urge to laugh, so she does. She throws her head back and roars, letting the laughter rack her frame.

Eventually, it gives way to sobs.

She doesn't like to cry. She really doesn't. It's just that everything has really gone to shit lately, and she feels so sick to her stomach that she can barely hold herself up.

She heaves terribly into the sink, her body convulsing with the effort. Unfortunately, she threw up everything she had left in her hours ago and now it's only burning stomach acid.

"Peyton?" The voice is one that she has strangely been missing lately.

"Yeah?" she responds hoarsely.

Brooke appears in the bathroom doorway. Her chin drops.

"Oh my God, Peyton! Are you okay?" She rushes over to her and begins laying her cool hands on Peyton's forehead and on her cheeks. Peyton unwillingly leans into her touch.

"Somehow," Peyton begins, but the words are hard coming. Her mind is racing at a million miles per hour, and yet she's so tired at the same time. "my dad found out that the majority of the allowance he was giving me was going straight up my nose, and he cut me off. I haven't had anything in almost twelve hours."

"Should we go to the hospital?" Brooke's words are halting and nervous. "I could call Lucas, and we could..."

"No, I don't want you to call Lucas" Peyton spits out the name. The last thing she needs is Lucas riding in on his fucking white horse. She's not a fucking little girl. "I'm not going to the hospital. That will just make everything worse. I know where I can score. I just need you to take me there."

"That's all?" asks Brooke warily. Her eyes look a little haunted, and Peyton knows exactly what she's remembering.

Groping hands in a dark room, a dirty mattress, the stench of an unclean body, and a pain that a fourteen year old isn't ready to feel.

"It's not like that anymore, Brooke" she says, reaching out to touch her but falling short.

"I know" says Brooke, her eyes growing as steely as Peyton's always are. "Who's a virgin at 16 these days? Let's go."

* * *

"God, Nate, please!"

Brooke has to turn her face away because she's never seen Peyton beg before and she doesn't like it.

"I'll give you anything. I don't have it right now, but if you just give me something now and then give me a few days, I promise I'll pay you." Peyton's barely standing, and her hands are shaking furiously. Brooke can see what it's costing her to even speak.

"Yeah, sure" says Nathan with a scoff. "You think I'm really just gonna give you something for nothing? That's not the way it works."

"I said I'll pay you" Peyton repeats, her eyes never leaving the baggie of white powder sitting on a cheap folding table in the center of the room.

"No" Nathan repeats.

"I'll do anything" Peyton whispers. "I'll do anything."

"Well, I'd say I'd give you a sniff for a fuck" he says.

Her eyes brighten with hope.

"But I don't really think you'd be worth it like this." He gestures to her bloodshot eyes and the way her body has begun to convulse a little every so often.

"Please, Nathan, I'm going to die!" she screams suddenly, falling to the floor. "I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to die! Please!"

Nathan sighs heavily and looks to the ceiling. Then his eyes narrow and he looks down again, his gaze landing directly on Brooke.

She cowers and attempts to curl deeper into the corner of the dirty sofa.

"I guess she'll work" he says, nodding towards Brooke.

Peyton is shaking even more now, her body tightening into a small ball on the floor at Nathan's feet.

She seems too far gone to reply, and Brooke worries that she might actually die.

"You mean, if we..." Brooke speaks for the first time, but can't finish the sentence.

"If we fuck, I'll give her enough to tide her over until she can pay."

Brooke closes her eyes, and breathes deeply.

_Lucas's eyes that morning when he woke up and the first thing he saw was her._

**Peyton rolling her eyes as she enters the gym for cheerleading tryouts.**

_Hands, mattress, stench, pain._

**Peyton's hands holding hers as they stare down into her mother's grave.**

She swallows.

Hard.

"Okay" she says finally, walking towards him. "Let's do it."

"I'll make it worth your while" Nathan grins at her, putting an arm around her and leading her down a dark hallway.

She feels like she's about to collapse under the weight of the arm.

Stopping to take one final look at Peyton on the floor, she steels her resolve.

She takes another step.

_Face down in the dirt, she says 'this doesn't hurt'._

Lyrics belong to Red Jumpsuit Apparatus.


	7. Afraid

Title: All The Bright Colored Fish

Rating: PG-13/R

Summary: This is where the water is shallow and nothing is as deep as you'd hoped it would be.

Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with One Tree Hill, the CW, nor any of its affiliates.

* * *

_She always weighed me down_

He looks up from the tousled sheets and the tousled girl lying next to him, and meets her eyes.

"So I guess we're even now," Nathan says, swallowing.

"You know what's so funny?" Haley asks after a moment, not meeting his eyes. "I used to love school. I wanted to go to college, and I actually thought I wanted to be a teacher. I was even a math tutor in ninth grade. I tutored her for awhile."

She finally nods towards the girl, acknowledging the source of tension in the room.

"I don't do this because I don't love you, Haley. I do it because I have to. I have to because you have to." He knows she doesn't do what she does because she wants to, but it still eats away at him. It's only fair that she should feel it a little too.

"I love you too, Nathan," she says, collapsing on the bed next to him. "But sometimes... sometimes I just wonder."

"If it was worth this?" he finishes.

"If we were worth this."

"Before you, I had basketball," Nathan remembers.

"I had school," Haley says, "and I had my parents, and Lucas, and Mr. Waffles."

"Who?" asks Nathan, turning to look at her.

"Nobody," she says quietly.

"When is she leaving?"

"Now," Nathan answers, reaching over and pushing the girl's shoulder.

Peyton makes a disgruntled noise, and then stretches slowly before opening her eyes.

"Oh, hey Haley," she says.

"Hey Peyt," Haley responds.

"Oh, God, what time is it?" Peyton asks, her bleary eyes searching the room.

"Almost eleven," Haley responds.

"Shit, I gotta go," Peyton says, scrambling up and quickly dressing herself. "I'm supposed to meet Brooke for a "mani and a pedi" in twenty minutes. Want to come, Hales?"

"No, I don't have the money anyway," Haley says with a sigh. "But don't forget brunch tomorrow."

"I don't know if Brooke's gonna be up for shopping today, Peyt," Nathan says with a slight trepidation in his voice.

"Why?" asks Peyton slowly, stopping and turning to look at him.

"I guess you were pretty out of it when you guys came over last night, but you needed something real bad, and you were out of money, so..."

"Nathan, you didn't?"

"You were too far gone for anything by that point, Peyt, and you can't get something for nothing," Nathan says defensively.

"Oh my God," says Peyton, falling back onto the bed, laughing helplessly.

"You know, I don't really see what's so funny about this, Peyton" says Nathan. "It was kind of weird, actually. She just kind of laid there, and then she seemed real upset afterward. I mean, yeah, it's the first time in a long time she's been sober when it happened, but it's not like it's a rare occurrence."

"She thinks she's in love," says Peyton after she catches her breath. "So that's probably it. Oh well, it was about time she realized that love isn't real."

Haley and Nathan look at each other uncomfortably.

"Oh, right, I'm sorry!" Peyton smacks herself in the forehead. "You two still like to pretend that even though you're a druggie and you're practically a prostitute, your love will last through anything."

"Peyton, just shut up, okay," says Haley, rising to her feet.

"Hales," says Peyton, taking her by the shoulders and looking her in the eyes. "You know you're one of my best friends, and I wouldn't tell you this if I didn't think you need to hear it. Your life is a joke."

"And what's your life, Peyton?" Nathan shoots back. "Walking around, acting all self-righteous and telling everyone else what's wrong with them, only to go home and snort all of your own problems away?"

"Yeah, I think that pretty much sums it up," she spits back.

"God, you don't even care about anyone but yourself," he says with disgust. "It's fucking sick."

"Don't you fucking say that to me!" Peyton's voice rises in anger, sticking her finger in Nathan's face. "Who took care of you all those nights when Haley was crying too hard in fear that you'd OD'd to do anything? Who comforts Haley every time she comes over crying because she feels like a whore? Who talks Brooke out of killing herself practically every other fucking week?"

"Oh, why, it must be Peyton the fucking martyr" Nathan says mockingly. "Well, let me ask you some questions. Who was the one who turned me on to drugs in the first place? Who was the one who stood next to Haley at the altar and supported her in making the worst decision of her life? And Brooke... don't even get me started on everything you do "for" Brooke? I won't even bring up all the times you've taken advantage of her clearly fucked up emotional state in order to score for yourself with some sick drug addict."

"Oh, kind of like the sick drug addict I scored with last night?" asks Peyton.

"Sure, let's take last night as an example." Nathan is not taken aback. "You bring Brooke over here, beg me for free drugs because you don't have any money, and then conveniently pass out, leaving her to handle the problem. And to top it all off, she's apparently already confessed to you earlier that she's "in love". Put two and two together, Peyton. You knew what was going to go down last night, and you wanted it!"

"I did not!"

"Don't pull that bull shit with me! I fucking know you," he's screaming now. "You are incapable of being happy, so you don't want anyone else to be."

Peyton blinks at him a couple of times.

"I do want Brooke to be happy," she says finally, and her voice is quiet. "But not without me."

With that, she turns and walks away.

_But, afraid I might need her, I dragged her around_

Lyrics belong to mewithoutYou


	8. After all

Title: All The Bright Colored Fish

Rating: PG-13/R

Summary: This is where the water is shallow and nothing is as deep as you'd hoped it would be.

Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with One Tree Hill, the CW, nor any of its affiliates.

* * *

_I think you caught me on the downslide, downturn  
I was busy writing with a pen and paper thin dream  
_

Brooke brushes her finger over his right eyebrow, so lightly that she's not even sure if she actually touched him.

Sometimes, she's not sure if she's ever touched him. She wonders if it's all just a beautiful, golden daydream. The memories of soft hand holding and of blushing pecks... they seem so distant. Maybe it's all just a sick joke, and she's going to wake up in a few minutes, hung-over and alone.

He opens his eyes groggily, and then his face splits into a slow smile.

"Hi," he whispers huskily.

"Hey, baby," she replies, lifting his hand and pressing it to her cheek.

She loves how his eyes roll back a little every time she says that. It makes her feel wanted. It creates the illusion in her mind that he might actually need her. She knows he doesn't. If he didn't have her, he'd have someone else. She wouldn't.

"What are you doing here so early?" he asks, after looking at the clock.

"I just wanted to be with you," she says, sliding her hand down his arm and onto his bare chest. She spreads her fingers, covering as much of the warm skin as possible.

He draws a shaky breath, and a bit of the drowsiness leaves his eyes.

Brooke stands, slowly, and begins to strip her body of last night's clothes.

"Brooke?"

"Don't worry, Lucas," she says, smiling brightly. She hopes he doesn't notice the tears glistening in her eyes. "There's just something I want to do for you. I promise you'll like it."

"We don't have to do... that," Lucas swallows, not taking his eyes off of her. They're following her every movement. They watch, as she tugs the bottom of her tank top up, and over her body.

Her bra is plain, white and cotton. It's clear she didn't plan this.

"Lucas, I have to tell you something," she says cheerfully through her choked voice, "and I'm afraid that after I do, you won't ever want to come near me again."

"There's nothing, Brooke," he says, reaching out and catching her around the waist. He pulls her close to him, and nuzzles her bare stomach. "There's nothing, nothing, nothing..."

He's kissing her abdomen, and whispering his deepest secrets into her naval, and, in that moment, Brooke feels for the first time that maybe somebody actually does love her. Maybe Lucas doesn't care that she only joined cheerleading because she didn't make dance team, or that she still doesn't let him talk to her at school. Maybe he knows about that time she fucked that pregnant girl's boyfriend, and that her dad used to come into her room really late at night, and it doesn't matter to him. Maybe he's going to love her anyway, and in the way that no one else has ever quite managed to. There's only one way to find out.

"I slept with your brother last night."

He freezes.

She moves out of his embrace.

"Why?" he asks after a moment.

"Does it matter?" she asks dully, picking up her shirt and pulling it back over her head.

She turns around and bends over, picking up her pants and trying to hastily pull them on.

"If you tell me that he made you, I'll believe you."

She faces him, barely daring to hope that things might end well.

Lucas' jaw is so tightly clenched that she wonders idly how he got the words out at all.

She wants to say it. She wants to say it so bad that it hurts, but something holds her back.

Did she have a choice?

She fights a brief inner battle. Then she pictures Peyton, lying on the floor, convulsing. She pictures Nathan, his face set and unmoved.

"He made me," she wails, and throws herself onto him. She clasps her around the neck, and makes a promise to herself then and there that she's never letting go. She's sinking her claws into him as deep as she can, and she's never letting go. "He made me! I didn't want to. I love you, and I want to be with you! Please, please don't be angry with me."

She pours out the entire story, her sobs causing her to pause every few words. Lucas is holding her so tightly that it hurts, but she doesn't mind.

She hears him speak, but can't make out the words.

"What did you say, Lucas?" she asks without releasing her grip.

"He hurt you," he whispers. His voice is muffled by her hair, but she makes out the words this time.

"I need you," she says in reply. She wishes she could stop herself from speaking, but she can't. Someone else is saying the words... someone that she can't control, and can't silence. "I need you to protect me, Lucas. You can. I know you can!"

"I will," he says, stroking the back of her head. "I always will."

She breathes a sigh, and closes her eyes.

"And I'm going to start right now," he says, lifting her from his lap and setting her firmly on the bed. He shrugs on a tee shirt and begins moving towards the door.

"Lucas, wait!" she calls after him, a sinking sensation forming in the pit of her stomach. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to do something that I've wanted to do for a long time," he calls over his shoulder, and then leaves, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Why do you take everything that's mine?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, man, but you need to get out of here before I make you." Nathan attempts to close the door in Lucas' face.

Lucas shoulders his way in, and walks into the messy living area.

Nathan looks after him, slightly surprised.

"It's been at least two years since you beat me up, Nate," Lucas says with a smirk that he didn't know he was capable of. "I've grown a bit since then."

"Yeah, well, you know what they say. Once a pussy, always a pussy," says Nathan, rolling up his sleeves as he advances on Lucas.

Before he can make a move, though, Lucas has sprung to action and punched him hard in the face.

Blood spurts from Nathan's nose, and he looks at Lucas in disbelief.

"You need to answer me before I make you," Lucas says quietly.

"I don't even know what you're talking about," Nathan spits out.

"Haley was my friend," Lucas says. His voice is forcedly calm.

"Until she became my wife," Nathan counters.

"Dan was my dad."

"Until he became mine," Nathan appears to catching on to Lucas' train of thought, and enjoying the effect it has on him.

"Brooke is my girlfriend."

Nathan looks momentarily taken aback by this one, but then he just smiles.

"Well, it looks like now she's my whore."

"Don't call her that," says Lucas, clenching his fists.

"Oh, I'm sorry, do you prefer slut?" Nathan goads him. "I mean, she had sex with her boyfriend's brother. It doesn't really get much lower than that."

"She told me what happened. I know what you did."

"Oh, I'm sure she did," Nathan chuckles. "I'm sure she made me out to be some sort of psycho-rapist and made sure that she came out looking the victim."

"You were going to make her watch her best friend die," Lucas says, the volume of his voice escalating. "You gave her no other way out."

"Didn't I?" asks Nathan. "Don't you think that if she was any sort of friend, she would have taken Peyton to the hospital? Gotten her some real help? You don't understand girls like Brooke. You see, girls like her love getting attention and creating drama for themselves. I bet you a thousand bucks that the whole time we were fucking last night, she was picturing exactly how your face would look when she told you."

"Just shut up!" Lucas exclaims at this. "You don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

"Look, man, I know we haven't exactly been cool in the past, but I'm about to give you some real good advice, so listen closely. Stay away from Brooke Davis. She's fucked up, and there's nothing that anybody can do about it. Not me, not her, and especially not you. If you give her the chance, she'll fuck you up too. Now get out of my house."

Nathan grabs Lucas by the arm and steers him toward the door. Lucas doesn't struggle.

_And all your plastic people with plastic hearts and smiles  
They had the worst intentions all along after all_

Lyrics belong to Death Cab for Cutie


	9. My hidden pearl

Title: All the Bright Colored Fish

Summary: This is where the water is shallow and nothing is as deep as you'd hoped it would be.

Rating: Mature

Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with the WB network or the television show One Tree Hill.

Author's Note: Alright, this is it. I'm very happy with the way this final chapter turned out, and I hope you will be also. I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed this story. I'm aware that it's not really a universally appealing plot, so I'm especially grateful towards all who have been able to appreciate it. Special thanks to go TypoKween and brucasfanatic for their loyal reviewing. A different sort of thanks goes to caramelo and for you to notice. I love getting feedback from people who have written stories that I respect immensely! Also, I'd like to thank photobooth romance for her helpful reviews, and for beta'ing this final chapter for me. Finally, the title of this story and the lyrics for this chapter belong to mewithoutYou. Now that I've acknowledged everyone, I'd just like to say that writing this story has been great for me. It's taken almost a year, but now, at the end of things, it's been worth it.

* * *

"Peyton" Brooke calls as she enters the room, "are you there?"

Peyton doesn't respond.

"Why aren't you answering your phone?" Brooke asks.

Peyton still doesn't answer.

"Well, whatev," says Brooke. "I know you're in your freaky little record hideout, but if you don't want to come out, then that's fine. I just wanted to tell you I can't go today. I really shouldn't even be here right now…" She's quiet for a moment, and then continues haltingly.

"You see, Lucas and I are kind of going through something," she says. "Last night… well, I'm sure you don't remember, but anyway, something happened with you, me, and Nathan. Don't worry; it totally wasn't your fault. It's just that now… I don't know. I feel like everything is getting really messed up, and I don't know what to do. I really need your advice, Peyt…"

Peyton can't hold back a small snort at this.

She hears Brooke shuffling around in her room, and curses her ironic sense of humor silently.

Peyton is lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling. It's painted black.

Brooke comes into the small area and lies down beside her.

"Trust me, Brooke. You don't want my advice."

"But I don't know what to do," Brooke protests. "I think Lucas went to talk to Nathan, and I just know Nathan is going to tell him all kinds of bad things about me, and then Lucas won't want me anymore, and I…"

"Brooke," says Peyton, painfully, and through gritted teeth, "don't worry about it. I'm sure he'll still want you."

"How can you be sure?"

"I just am, okay? I'm sure things will work out for you guys."

"Thanks, Peyton," says Brooke, reaching out to hold the other girl's hand. "You always make me feel better."

Peyton snatches her hand away.

Brooke looks at her in confusion.

"Brooke… I think it would be better if we cooled things off for awhile," says Peyton slowly.

"What? Are you breaking up with me?" asks Brooke with a giggle. "Don't tell me, it's not me, it's you?"

"Yes," whispers Peyton, "that's basically it."

"Peyton, you aren't being serious, are you?" Brooke asks suddenly, turning to look at her.

"I am."

"You are not. Now stop it; you're freaking me out," Brooke demands. "You know I couldn't live without you. You've been my best friend my whole life."

"Yeah, and what a great life you've led," says Peyton sarcastically. "Just face it, Brooke, we suck together."

"Peyton, I love you! You're my best friend!" Brooke protests, her voice rising.

"If you love me so fucking much," spits Peyton, the volume of her voice matching Brooke's, "then why the fuck didn't you take me the hospital last night? I could've died!"

"You said you didn't want me to!" Brooke counters.

"And you listened to me?" Peyton screams. "Look at us, Brooke. We say we're friends, but we're not. Friends don't let friends drive drunk and all that? How about friends don't let friends o.d.? How about friends don't let friends pass out and get molested? We aren't those friends. I haven't done one thing in your interest in the last four years. That's friendship to you?"

"Peyton…" Brooke whimpers, blinking back tears.

"Look," Peyton's voice is softer now. "This is the first good thing I've done in a while, so just let me do it."

"Peyton, I…"

"Please, Brooke?" Peyton's voice is wavering.

Brooke appears to be in shock.

"You'll be better off without me," Peyton says with a choked voice. "We'll both be better."

Brooke stands very slowly and begins to back away, still staring at Peyton.

"Um… I have to, uh, get back…" Brooke stutters, her voice quaking.

Peyton stares at the ceiling, her eyes not moving until she finally hears the door close behind Brooke. Then she rolls onto her side, and cries.

She looks at the pizza crusts and white residue lying casually on a glass square. She thinks about what her dad would say if he came home and found her like this, high and unwashed, lying on her closet floor.

Maybe he'd lift her into his arms, and carry her downstairs. Maybe he'd make spaghetti, and they'd watch old reruns of 'Alf' together like they used to right after her mom died, except this time he wouldn't have one arm around Brooke and one arm around her. She'd get him all to herself.

Or maybe not. Maybe he'd be shocked, and angry, and he'd drag her off to a hospital and check her into rehab for the next three months.

She knows that she should clean up the mess. She should take a shower, and do her hair, and put on a dress. She should meet him on the porch with flowers in her hands and a smile on her lips. Something is different, though, and she can't pretend. Not this time.

* * *

"I'm moving home," says Haley when Nathan gets back that night, and he's seen it coming for weeks, so he isn't surprised.

It still stings a little, though.

"I know," he says, sitting down and putting his head in his hands.

"I cleaned up," she says.

He looks around the place, and sees that she's telling the truth.

"So, uh..." she stumbles over her words, and her voice is thick, "try not to let things get too bad after I'm gone."

He wants to ask how things could possibly get worse, but he knows it would hurt her, and he thinks he's done quite enough of that.

"Do you really think you're going to be able to just go back?" he asks, and his tone is not sarcastic. It's interested. "I mean, do you think that you'll be able to just move back in with your parents, and go to school again, and be like a regular person?"

"I don't know," she sighs, sitting down on the sofa next to him. Her small suitcase sits in the middle of the empty foyer, and he thinks it's the loneliest thing he's ever seen. "I have to try, though."

"Hales..." he tries to sound casual, but his voice is cracking. "I'm really sorry about... about the way things turned out. It's been a really hard year."

"I know," she says, putting her arms around him. "I know, Nathan."

"But maybe, you know, maybe someday," she says, wiping her eyes, "after we grow up."

"Maybe," he agrees.

"And, I mean, we'll still talk, right?" she asks, sniffling.

"Yeah, sure," he says, trying for confidence. He knows they won't.

"So, um, I'll just send you the papers, okay?" she asks, standing and brushing her hands on her jeans.

"Yeah, yeah, of course," he says. The situation feels so surreal to him that he's not even sure it's actually happening.

"Okay," she says, leaning over and kissing him on the cheek. He reaches up to touch the wet spot.

"Okay," he repeats dumbly.

Then she picks up her suitcase, and walks out the door, and he knows what the real loneliest sight in the world is.

* * *

Her ears are so alert from hours of listening that she hears him as soon as his foot steps onto the gravel in the driveway leading up to his room door. She sits up, crossing her legs and then uncrossing them. She wishes desperately for lip gloss.

He enters.

"So," she asks, looking up and scanning his face. "What happened? What did he say?"

"Nothing that matters," Lucas says, offering her a forced, tight smile. She can't help but think it looks cracked.

She reaches out and touches his arm. He flinches a bit.

"It doesn't matter?" she repeats, looking at her withdrawn hands. "If it doesn't matter, then come here and sit by me."

He moves over to the bed woodenly and takes a seat next to her.

"Baby?" she asks, looking at him with a questioning eyes.

"Do you know about my mom?" he asks, not meeting her gaze.

"What?"

"I mean, do you know what she's like?"

"No, you've never introduced us. Tell me. What's she like?"

"She's kind of like you, but older," he chuckles a little. "She has brown hair, and she used to be a cheerleader...she's an alcoholic."

"Lucas, you know that I haven't... I mean, you're helping me, right?" she says, trying for a bright tone. "You're helping me so much."

She's clutching at his arm, hanging on for dear life. She knows this conversation has the potential to make or break things for them, and she's not sure what she'll do if she says something wrong.

"I know," he says slowly, staring at his hands hard. "I know that, and that's what I can't understand. If I'm enough for you to stop, why wasn't I ever enough for her?"

Brooke doesn't say anything. She doesn't know what to say. Any wrong word from her has horrific potential.

"The only thing I can think," Lucas swallows hard here, "is that the difference is you love me and she doesn't."

"I do love you," Brooke reaffirms quickly. "I do, but Luke, I'm sure your mom..."

"You don't know anything!" says Lucas suddenly, standing up and throwing her arm off of him. "You have no idea. She doesn't love me. She fucking hates me."

Brooke stares at him with slight awe as well as fear. The possibility that he might be as broken as she feels enters her mind for the first time, and the thought frightens her. She clutches the hand he cast off so easily in her other. Rejection is not something that Brooke takes well.

"If she loved me she wouldn't have let me grow up alone," he says angrily. "Mothers clean up after their kids; they don't make their kids clean up after them. Mothers cook for their kids, and they watch their basketball games, and they don't pass out too early to drive them so that they get kicked off the team for too many absences. When their kids are sick, mothers wipe up the goddamn vomit! They don't make the kids do it themselves." There is a long period of silence, during which Lucas faces the wall, and his shoulders shake suspiciously, and Brooke wants to run so badly that she has to lean over and hold her feet to the ground with her hands.

"I'd be a good mother," she says finally, and his shoulders seem to relax a little. She takes this as a sign to continue, and her desire to flee lessens. "Lucas, I'd be such a good mother. You'd never have to worry about leaving me alone with our kids, because I wouldn't drink at all, and I'd always take good care of them, especially when they were sick."

"You know," he says, "before, before I really knew you, when I would see you at parties, you would remind me so much of her. That's part of why I wanted you, I guess. I thought I could help you. I'd have a second chance…and maybe I'd be able to make you love me in the way I could never get her to…"

"And you have, and I do" she says, getting up and walking over to him. She hooks her arms around his chest from behind, and pulls him slowly back over to the bed.

"But what have I done to help you?" he asks. "I haven't done anything." He doesn't resist her, though, and they eventually make it back to the bed.

"Mainly, I think," she says after a moment, "that you've given me hope that things can be better."

"What if someday I can't do that for you?" he asks, his voice thick.

"Someday, I won't need you to anymore," she says, and her voice is so confident that it surprises even her. "Someday, we'll both just be normal people, and we won't need so much help existing. Until then, though, I think we should just do what we're doing. You can give me hope, and I can love you, and we can just keep going on."

She draws him into her embrace then, pulling his head tight against her chest, wondering if he has any idea how much his response will mean to her.

He nods against her, and she lets out a breath shaky with relief. She falls back against the bed, and he comes with her, leaning his head on her shoulder.

"So," she says after a moment, "what do you think our house will look like?"

"White," he says slowly, "with a big yard and flowers around the porch."

"Well, I hope you like getting your hands dirty," she says with a giggle, "because I am definitely not a gardener."

"You can learn," he says teasingly.

"We both can," she agrees, closing her eyes. "We'll grow roses."

* * *

_All the bright colored fish tell_

_Of a treasure in a dull shell_

"_Such subtlety, so easily missed!"_

_Fin._


End file.
